


The Kite

by brocanteur



Series: To Bedlam and Part Way Back [8]
Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocanteur/pseuds/brocanteur





	The Kite

_"Here, in front of the summer hotel the beach waits like an altar."_

 

Once Emily knows, it feels as if there is no going back.

In Scotland, Katie says, "It feels like I'm fucking dying, Ems." It's Christmas day, and some of their younger cousins are writing letters to Father Christmas. Emily's plum pudding remains untouched. "How do I get rid of it?" 

"You can't..." Emily shakes her head, looking around the room; they're surrounded by people but everyone's busy with something—watching telly, admiring presents, talking and laughing. Gran observes everything from her place on the sofa, looking very much like she disapproves of the festivities. "What d'you want me to say, Katie?" Emily shrugs. "So you love her." 

"Shhh," Katie retorts sharply, tugging on Emily's arm, pulling her outside, into the frozen garden. Beneath her feet is what remains of a brief snowfall. The slush is slippery wet, and Emily almost loses her footing as she follows sullenly. 

They stand together, shivering, wearing the matching Christmas jumpers one of their aunts knit for them—horrid—and smoke. 

"If Dad fucking catches us..." Katie says, accepting the fag Emily's lit for her. 

"He won't." Emily bounces on her toes a bit, looking pale, though her nose and cheeks are quite pink. "Tell me, then. Is it making you happy?" 

"Yes?" 

Emily's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Is that a question?" 

"Dunno," Katie replies, aware that she sounds petulant, that maybe being in love is something she should be happy about—except that she's in love with a girl, with Effy Stonem, and this was never supposed to happen. "I mean, maybe I am happy. But she's fucked me over before, hasn't she? You know how it's been."

"Yeah." Emily takes a deep draw from her cigarette and exhales slowly. "Welcome to the fucking club."

"Christ, you're bitter enough for the both of us."

"Mm. Sorry, I just," Emily attempts another smile, but it's still sort of pathetic, "I miss her, and I'm terrified to see her, because if we have one more fight, it may be our last."

"But why?" Katie asks. "I've seen the way she looks at you, Ems. She may pretend otherwise but you're, like, her entire world."

Emily flicks the ash of her cigarette and shrugs. "Except our worlds are about to get bigger." 

"That's fucking ridiculous. You've got months before you have to worry about leaving for uni. Why are you wasting your time worrying about it now?" 

"It just feels like something that's hanging over us." 

"You're both idiots, then." 

"Sorry to point out the obvious, Katie, but you're the one prattling on about not wanting to be in love, even though you're fucking happy. So why don't you stop worrying so much about who you're happy with, okay?" 

"Twat."

"Cunt." Finally, Emily's smile seems genuine. "We're all idiots, aren't we?"

"A bit." Katie rolls her eyes and pushes at Emily's shoulder, saying, "Fine, so ring your sodding girlfriend and, like, tell her you love her and fucking miss her. I'll ring my...whatever she is...and tell her... Well, that's my fucking business, yeah?"

Emily laughs. They stub out their fags almost in tandem, and pocket the remains for later disposal. Just as Katie's turning towards the door, however, Emily stops her. "Katie?"

Katie looks at her sister and waits.

"It just happens, doesn't it? Love?"

"You're really asking me?"

Emily shakes her head, and for the first time Katie's aware of how much alike their situation really is. It frightens her, because she never wants to feel the way Emily looks right this minute. "Sometimes I think I've always been in love with Naomi, but that can't be true."

Katie remembers the roiling hatred she used to have for Effy, the way her stomach would twist with fury and fear and lingering traces of envy whenever she saw her. "Things have a way of changing in ways we don't expect or fucking want, haven't they?"

"I suppose." Emily digs the toe of her shoe into a mound of melting snow. She shivers, lets out a shaky breath, and Katie watches the puff of air condense and dissipate. "For what it's worth, I'm glad it's her."

"Fuck's sake, why?" Katie asks. "Because she's a girl?"

"No. Though you understand now, don't you?"

"What?"

"What it's like to want someone more than they want you."

 

Later, Katie hides in the backseat of her father's car and rings Effy.

Effy answers by saying, "I'm wearing the gloves. I hope you're pleased."

Katie rubs the back of her hand across her eyes and smiles. "Yeah, that's good."

"What's wrong?"

"What? Nothing. I mean, happy Christmas, yeah?" She sniffs quietly into her sleeve. All she wants to ask is whether Effy's missed her, but she can't bring herself to do it. Emily's words rattle around in her brain, just as they have all afternoon. "How are you, then?"

"Full of disgusting pudding. You?"

"Sick and tired of my family." She pulls the quilt she brought out with her more tightly around her body. It's begun to snow again, and the windows are fogging up. "What are you up to?"

"Tony's gone out for booze. We have a long evening of board games with Mum ahead of us, so." There's a short pause. "Where are you?"

"In Dad's car, and it's, like, snowing."

"Must be cold."

"Yeah."

"Is that why you sound like you're sniffling?"

"Dunno," Katie says. She runs her hand across her eyes again, and realises she's crying, feels like such an idiot she almost curses aloud. "Maybe. Listen, Eff—"

"You'll be back in a few days, won't you? Panda and Naomi and I, we went to Thomas's new club. It was cool, but I sort of missed your ridiculous dancing."

"Ridiculous? What's ridiculous about it? I'm a really good dancer, yeah?"

"Sorry, no one alive dances better than Pandora."

Katie scoffs loudly. "Pandora? Are you fucking joking?"

Something that sounds like a laugh comes through the other end of the line. "Yes, Katie. I'm fucking joking."

"Oh." Katie lets out a rough, shaky laugh. She swipes at her eyes again, but she feels better. "Ha ha."

"Panda's a pathetically bad dancer, but she is rather entertaining. You're a bit sexier, but don't tell her I said so."

Katie smiles, warmed by Effy's roundabout compliment. "A bit, eh? That's fucking kind."

"Yeah just a bit. I can't really see myself snogging her, you know?"

"I should bloody well hope not. Effy—"

"Tony's back. Sorry, I've got to go. Time for drunken Cluedo," Effy says. Two heartbeats later she adds, quietly, "Come back soon, okay?"

Katie swallows hard and tips her head back against the car seat. Maybe Emily's wrong, she thinks. Maybe Effy doesn't love her, but this is good enough. It's good enough. "Yeah. I will."

___

For Katie, the new year has always been a time for clean breaks and fresh starts. Every January, she's looked forward to ridding herself of everything that reminds her of all she's disliked about the past twelve months, as if throwing away unfashionable clothes, or tearing up pictures of old boyfriends, might heal the wounds she rarely allows herself to think about.

Katie marks time differently now, and she thinks that maybe her new year, her fresh beginning, was supposed to come nearly six months ago, the day she woke up after having her head smashed in with a rock.

It should all be a blur, a distant memory. Freddie, Effy, the woods. None of it should matter anymore. And it doesn't, not in the ways Katie might've imagined.

Love's fucked everything up, completely. 

She tries to piece it together, to come up with a reason any of this has happened, how she could've _let_ it happen—except she's fairly sure she stumbled into it, love, much the way she's managed to stumble into most of the things in her life. It was an accident. Maybe a mistake, too, but it was hers to make, and she's so deep into it now she can't fathom taking any of it back. She wants Effy so desperately sometimes, she can't think of anything else—not even how much it'll hurt when it's over. Because it will be, eventually. She can't imagine any couple that's made a real go at a relationship ever started the way they did—angry and resentful and lost. Upside down and backwards, that's what they'd been—clinging to one another because, in that moment, they'd both needed to wallow in their self-inflicted misery. That's over now; or she hopes it is, anyway. In truth, Katie still doesn't know what Effy's ever wanted or needed, and whether, now that their shared darkness has gone, she'll grow bored with Katie, the way she grew bored with Cook and Freddie.

(And then Effy will do something kind, or smile in a way that makes Katie forget they won't ever be a normal couple. An awful love rushes through her, monumental and absurd and so real she can feel it squeezing her heart until it's all she knows. All that matters.) 

Blaring from the telly in the next room, Katie hears the beginning of the countdown. 

There's a knock at the door, but it's opening before Katie has a chance to say a word. Emily peers into the dark. "Why're you in Gran's room?" she whispers. 

Katie glances at the bed; Gran's been dead asleep for hours. "Dunno."

"Come on, then."

They go into the living room, where most of the children are asleep, too, and the adults look tired. James, his head in their mum's lap, has his bleary-eyed gaze fixed on the telly. When the new year is announced and the crowds in London cheer and there are fireworks, he jumps a bit before quickly settling back and closing his eyes. They exchange hugs, those who are awake, and good wishes. 

Katie's phone vibrates in the middle of it, and she sneaks away without being noticed by anyone except Emily, who raises her eyebrows but says nothing.

When Katie's alone again, she answers the call, surprised to hear Tony's voice on the other end, Tony's and lots of others. He's obviously at a party of some sort, a very loud one.

"Hold on, hold on," he says, his voice cutting in and out. "She's quite drunk. Katie?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Oh, good. Here's Effy, okay? Happy New Year!"

There's more noise, what could be the phone being passed, and distant shouting—the sounds of a raging party. Wherever they are, the celebration's just begun.

Just as she's starting to think she's been left in the lurch, Katie hears a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, and Effy's voice. "Bastard knicked my phone," she says. "Sorry, he called without telling me."

"All right." Katie thinks about going into the garden, for privacy's sake, but it's freezing out and she'd have to go searching for a jacket. Instead, she goes into the empty kitchen, and decides to put a kettle on. 

Effy's silent for a long time, but Katie can hear her breathing. Things are a bit quieter around her, too, like she's gone somewhere to be alone as well, and Katie imagines her out in the cold, pacing and smoking a fag. 

Suddenly, Katie's heart lodges in her throat with missing Effy so much. She almost says so, almost dumps the contents of her heart in Effy's lap, when Effy's speaking again.

"I used to be good at fixing things, you know? Other people's ridiculous problems—they'd ask and I'd sort things out for them. And now I can't even..."

Katie waits, wondering just how drunk Effy is, because she never talks like this—never says more than she absolutely has to. She's dense with secrets, Effy.

When Effy doesn't say anything more right away, Katie asks, "What? Can't what, Effy?"

There's a sound, a soft inhalation—like Effy's sucking on her cigarette. "Did you kiss anyone? At midnight?"

"No." The kettle's boiling. Katie stares at it, but doesn't move to turn it off. She's holding a cup, and she's squeezing so hard she's afraid it might break in her hand. "Did you?"

"Yes. But I wanted... I mean, I looked for you..." There's a pause, then Effy's voice grows faint; she's talking with Tony. She's saying, the words barely audible, "Why did you, then? I told you. I took some pills, you know that. You fucking—"

"Give it here, Eff." Tony's voice is clear on the receiver again. "Katie?"

"Yeah?" Katie answers weakly. She puts the cup down and, without thinking, picks up the kettle, hot off the stove. Hissing, she drops it and steps away, back until she's pressed against the sink.

"Listen, she's just a bit wasted, that's all. She was talking about you, and I thought it'd be a laugh to call. Anyway, I wouldn't take it seriously."

"A laugh," Katie repeats. "Sure." Emily's appearance by the door startles her out of her confusion, and she turns around to run water over her throbbing hand; she doesn't think it'll blister. "Whatever."

"Sorry, yeah? I'm sure she'll ring you when she's less—"

Katie ends the call without another word, and slides her mobile into her pocket. The water runs cold over her hand, the kind of cold that makes skin feel as if it's on fire.

"Burn yourself?" Emily asks, her voice a sympathetic murmur.

"Yeah," Katie says. "I guess I fucking did."

___

There's a thin line between love and hate, isn't there? Katie's heard that, but always thought it was a load of bollocks. How could anyone possibly love someone they hated?

(When she thinks about it—and she has, more and more lately—she thinks hate isn't more than a perverse kind of love. What other way to explain the sheer energy required to hate someone? All of the hours Katie spent obsessing over Effy, back when Effy had everything Katie thought she wanted—she was popular, and beautiful, and people wanted to be around her and _she didn't care_ —must've meant something. She knows that now. She knows what it is to love and hate Effy, and she isn't sure which is better and which is worse. Maybe loving Effy means hating her a bit, too.)

Katie's back in Bristol, back at college, when she next sees her, hovering by Katie's locker, waiting. And maybe it's progress, that Effy isn't avoiding their inevitable confrontation, which would be—What? It's not anger that Katie feels. There's an ache she can't be fucking rid of, like she's sort of heartbroken, but she isn't angry. So, no, she won't scream; she won't make a scene. It'll be quiet, their reunion.

Katie will wait and Effy will do with the silence whatever she likes.

They're next to each other—Katie's studiously avoiding eye contact as she opens her locker and reaches inside for a book—when Effy says, "Hi." And that syllable is a rough little sound, a broken entreaty. The year she spent not saying a word must've been a fucking reprieve. Only Effy, Katie thinks, could make talking seem like a punishment.

"Yeah," Katie says, clearing her throat, because suddenly communicating _is_ a struggle. Such a simple thing to say, but she feels it sticking in her throat. "Hi, Effy."

"That call," Effy says, after a long hesitation. "I was fried."

Katie reaches into the locker, but she drops the book she needs, and when she scrambles to pick it up she finds herself in a race with Effy. They touch it together, and Katie grabs it, her temper flaring unexpectedly. "Is that an apology?"

"Yes."

"Say so, then. Say you're fucking sorry you snogged someone else."

"I didn't. I kissed someone, for a moment—"

"And there's a bloody difference?"

"Yes," Effy replies, frowning. "There is. Besides, Katie, I don't remember us making this something exclusive."

Katie shoves the book into her bag and slams the locker door shut. "I guess we didn't," she says, turning toward class. When Effy grabs her by the elbow, she jerks away. "What?"

"Don't, okay?"

Effy's passivity makes Katie explode with rage. "Don't _what_? I get it. I mean, whatever. You're a slut, and you can't fucking help yourself. Go on and fuck whomever you please, I don't care."

Instead of releasing her arm, or responding with equal anger, Effy shakes her head and says, "I'm bored with that particular line of abuse, Katie."

"Oh? Well, I'm sorry, but guess what? I don't want you going around kissing other people, Eff. No snogging, no fucking—not for as long as we're doing...this."

"This?"

"Yes, _this_. Danny cheated on me, and Freddie and I were still technically together that night when you... Anyway, it made me feel like absolute shit, and I'm not going to be that pathetic ever again. So, you do it, and _this_ is over, yeah?"

Effy's expression softens as she nods. "Okay." She lets go of Katie's arm as she takes a step back and leans against the wall. She looks relieved, and in that briefest of moments, Katie is willing to forgive almost anything. "How was Scotland?"

"Wonderful," Katie says, when really she means is, _It was shit without you_. But she's not quite ready to play nice again. "Bristol must've been, like, loads of fun."

"Loads. One massive rave after another." Effy shrugs. "What do you want me to say, Katie? I went to a party, it was awful, I got high, Tony behaved like a total twat, and you weren't there." She gives Katie a long, helpless look. "All right?"

Katie sucks in a deep breath, and exhales. "Yeah," she says. 

Because it is. Suddenly, it just is.

__

Emily's fights with Naomi grow worse.

Not louder, not meaner, but it takes them longer to let go of their resentments, and when they forgive one another, it seems to Katie that they're only one moment away from dredging it all up again, which makes it all the more terrible to watch, even from a distance. Then, of course, Emily comes home, heart-bruised and irritable, and any little thing offends her. One night, during dinner, their mum asks her if anything's wrong, and Emily goes off on a minutes' long tirade about privacy and people minding their own fucking business. Later, Katie finds her in bed, clutching her pillow, pretending like she hasn't just been crying, even though her eyes are bloodshot and small, and she looks so tired and broken that Katie loses all desire to berate her for being such an impossible cunt.

They love each other, Naomi and Emily, otherwise they wouldn't be going at it like wounded animals—they'd let go and move on. It'd be the sane thing to do, but Katie isn't about to lecture anyone on the relative health of their relationship. Emily hasn't been in the mood to confide anyway, so she's very unlikely to heed Katie's advice, which she reckons would be something along the lines of, "Break up with her, if you're so bloody miserable." Which would be the height of hypocrisy and might send Emily on another mad tear, one rightly directed at Katie herself.

So, Katie decides to confront Naomi instead.

It goes as well as expected, which is to say that as soon as Naomi sees Katie approach, she mutters something under her breath, and shakes her head as if she's about to be subjected to the fucking Inquisition.

She's not entirely wrong.

Naomi's sat on the field across from the house she's been living in since just after the holidays, a new place she's apparently got to herself because her mum fucked off to, like, travel through Asia or something. The details are fuzzy because Katie only half-listens whenever Emily's blathering on about anything to do with Naomi that isn't complete drama. Katie, whilst sympathetic, well enjoys the drama, not least because she's entirely certain Naomi and Emily will get through it fairly unscathed. They're in love—and Emily's just lucky that way.

She's wearing a robin's egg blue headband that matches her eyes, Naomi, and it'd be a lovely combination except that her pale hair is an absolute ruin—long and unkempt, it looks like it hasn't seen a stylist—well, _ever_. Katie tells her so as she sits beside her on the dewy grass, cold on the back of Katie's legs. Naomi's answering glare is imperious.

"Jesus," she says, laughing shortly, though there's a scowl set deep in her eyes. "Come out here all on your own, did you? Now that you're out and proud maybe you've decided to join the Sad Lesbian Club? We meet every other Sunday and pray to the almighty Vagina, Destroyer of Worlds. Sort of like church, but less preachy, yeah?"

"Fucking hell, are you drunk?"

"Absolutely not. No. If I had been, I'd have sobered up immediately at the sight of _your_ bitchy little face." At that Naomi's expression drops so completely, Katie's afraid she's about to cry. She doesn't. Instead, she dips her head and rubs her nape absently, like she's suddenly very, very weary.

"I thought you loved her," Katie says quietly.

"I _do.“_

"Then why is she so depressed? And why do you look even worse? What have you done to each other, Naomi?"

"We're seventeen," Naomi replies, all overblown anguish and desperation. Katie's never seen her this way, and she feels the hard press of sympathy in her chest and throat. "What am I supposed to do? Ask her to fucking marry me? It's ludicrous. Bloody ludicrous." 

Katie nods dumbly as Naomi repeats, "We're _seventeen_."

"I think," Katie says, blurting out the first, stupid, thing she can think of, "Mum and Dad were just a bit older than we are now when they got married." She pauses. "But then Emily and I were, like, accidents or whatever."

Naomi gives her a blank look. "I'm not getting her pregnant, Katie."

Katie laughs but Naomi continues looking like death warmed over, not even amused by her own joke, when, out of fucking nowhere, Cook shows up. He sits down with them and pats Naomi on the knee like they're best mates for life. The fag in his mouth droops and bobs as he addresses them.

"Ladies! And how are we this fine fucking day?"

Naomi's got eye-rolling down to a sodding science, but even for her this one's rather spectacular. Cook responds by grinning at her, and it seems to do the trick, tempering Naomi's peevishness almost immediately. She asks for a cigarette, and he reaches into his pocket and hands her the entire pack. When she's got a slightly crumpled fag between her lips, he leans closer and strikes a match for her.

"What goes on, Blondie? You look, you know, sad and shit."

Katie snorts, irritated by the interruption. Cook, barging in without an invitation—how fucking predictable. "Uh, excuse us," she says. "We're having a _private_ conversation."

"Is that so?" He turns his smiling face to Katie.

"Yeah, so you can fuck off now, _James_."

Cook's expression darkens. "Look, just because you got the girl doesn't mean you get to knick all of my mates, yeah? If you've got a problem, then _you_ can get to fuck, Katiekins."

The snipe hits its mark and Katie's simultaneously stung, guilt-ridden, and irrepressibly defiant. "I was here first, you stupid tosser."

He shrugs and takes an enormous drag from his cigarette. When he exhales, he squints at her through the smoke. "Then stay. To be honest, I don't fucking care."

They grow awkwardly quiet for a bit, all of them. Naomi and Cook smoke without a word—Cook lies back on the grass and stares at the sky, his fingers stretched across his stomach. He puffs on his cigarette and when he catches Katie watching him, he winks. Despite her protestations to the contrary, she's always liked him, even when he's been a right arse, and she wonders for a moment what it would've been like for her, if Effy had chosen him. How that would've done her head in—having her heart break in two every time she saw them together. The thought of it alone makes her feel queasy.

Letting out a soft snort, Naomi lies down beside Cook, whilst Katie finds herself staring down at the both of them, wondering how their strange friendship ever took hold. They seem so different, on the surface, and yet they must, on some level, understand one another. Katie remembers the morning she spent with Cook at Uncle Keith's pub, after Effy'd fucked her over yet again. He'd listened to her like a friend instead of the prick she knew he could be. Maybe that's what he'd been for Naomi, as well—a kind, warm shoulder to lean on.

When Cook retrieves a flask from his coat pocket and offers it to Naomi, Katie says, "She's had enough."

Cook raises an eyebrow and Naomi looks like she wants to disagree for a moment, but then shrugs and says, "No, she's fucking right, actually."

Unscrewing the cap, Cook takes a drink that ends with a loud, contented sigh. "Start the party without me, Naomio?"

"I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"If wishes were horses, little girl..." He smirks, and Naomi covers her face with one hand—Katie's not sure whether she looks like she wants to laugh or cry. "Come on, then. Tell us all about your woman troubles. Is Ems being a total cunt again, or what?"

"Oi!" Katie interjects, glancing between Cook and Naomi. Their little confabs suddenly seem less innocent. "What have you been telling him, you cow?"

Cook smiles smugly and raises his flask as an offering; Katie ignores it. "Sorry, princess, but those conversations are between Naomio and myself. Private, I think you'd say."

"Oh, for fuck's sake—"

"God," Naomi interrupts. "Would you shut up, please?" She struggles to sit up, then seems to think better of it and sort of flops back down again; her headband's gone crooked, and she takes one more long drag from her fag before flicking it away. In the distance, Katie can still see it smoking. Finally, Naomi says, "Emily, she's got..." She takes a deep, foreboding, breath. "Expectations."

Cook laughs sharply, but Katie's confused. "And what's that mean?" she asks. "What sort of expectations?"

Naomi opens her mouth, but it's Cook who answers. "What do you think? She wants things, future things, and she's sure she's going to get them because her little girlfriend's in love, and love's supposed to be this grand thing, yeah, that makes every fucking thing possible. Naomio, here," Naomi makes a face, "she's stuck, cos she wants things too, right, but Emily's things, they're bigger. Life changing and shit."

 _Life changing_. Cook may be a dick, but he's not always stupid, and he's probably just laid out all of Naomi's fears better than she ever could. Still, it seems completely unfair that Naomi's able to confide in Cook, of all fucking people, and not Emily, who's her girlfriend and, like, suffering. 

Katie turns her attention to Naomi and says so. "You've got to tell her, Naomi. I mean it. Just tell her, because she's well upset and you're the only one who can fix this."

"Christ, Katie, do you think I haven't tried?"

"So, then, what does she say? I mean, what the fuck are you two arguing about?"

It seems rather simple, the way Naomi lays it out. She says Cook's right, and adds that fighting about something that hasn't happened yet is about as useful as worrying over your own death. What's the point in obsessing? "Maybe she thinks that if we plan it all out, nothing bad will happen. Meanwhile, all the fucking planning's driving us apart. I told her we should figure it out when we get to it, you know? She's scared, but so am I, because everything I say about that potential future she's dreamed up disappoints her." Crestfallen, Naomi sighs. "I don't want to keep disappointing her."

The only thing Katie can think to say is, "But you love her. She loves you."

Naomi's eyes are softly patronising. "Loving someone isn't hard, Katie. That's the easy part." 

"Yes, but—"

"But what? Look, just, forget I said anything, okay? I'll talk to her and we'll sort it out. One way or another."

Katie doesn't like the finality in Naomi's tone. She watches her get up and stumble toward her house, reaching for the mobile in her pocket. Before she's at the front door, she's already got the receiver at her ear.

Katie's stomach drops.

It isn't until Cook clears his throat that she remembers he's even there. He says, "And that, princess, is why I don't do sodding relationships." She twists round to give him an angry look, but the smile she sees on his face is already sad.

Nodding in the direction of the nearby pub, Katie says, "Buy me a pint, yeah?"

 

He buys her two, and manages to make her laugh several times, which is as much as Katie could've hoped for.

They've been drinking steadily for twenty minutes, and Cook's talking rather animatedly—JJ's taken a job at a candy shop and Freddie's got a new girlfriend he refuses to introduce to Cook, a matter Cook finds quite amusing—when Katie's mobile vibrates. She's got a message from Effy.

_Where r u?_

Cook raises his eyebrows and leans to look at the phone's screen as Katie types out a quick response. "Wifey?"

"Shut up," Katie replies, but mildly, because Cook's been nothing but nice the last few minutes and there's no sign of bitterness in his voice. Still, he must be jealous, because Katie's sure she would be. "Sorry. You must fucking hate me."

He shakes his head. "Nah, man, I don't."

"You sure? Things didn't exactly go the way you planned, did they? Like, when you left with her last summer—"

And now there is a hint of something, a bit of resentment, in his laughter as he interrupts. "Look, Katiekins, I mean, yeah, I wanted Effy. I wanted to keep her because she's not like most of the girls I shag—and maybe that's love, I dunno, mate. But then it went to shit, because things do, and if she ever loved me, it wasn't for forever, right?" He finishes his drink and calls for another with a smiling wave at the barmaid. "And now she's gone all lesbo on me, yeah? I mean, look at you, babe. I can't compete with that, now can I?"

"Don't know about that," Katie murmurs, feeling a kinship rise between them. "I love her, too." It's the first she's admitted that to anyone except Emily, but it feels all right, like a secret she can share with him now. "It's stupid, isn't it? Loving her?"

The barmaid brings Cook's drink, and Cook doesn't say anything till she's gone. Then, he shrugs and gulps half his beer in one go. "Yeah," he says, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve. "Probably." He looks at her and pats her on the shoulder. "Cheer up, peachy. At least you're not your sister, yeah, with all her planning. She must have it all mapped out, her nice little life. But that's no good, is it? Naomi's about to lay that all to waste."

Katie swallows hard as Cook's words cut through her like a knife. "Stop it," she murmurs. 

He gives her the same look Naomi gave her earlier. A look that says she doesn't know anything because her heart's not yet been torn to pieces. 

When he says, "Right, sorry," it's without any conviction.

He orders another round.

__

The expected blow-up doesn't happen immediately.

It doesn't even happen within a week, and so Katie begins to forget all about it. She goes about her days—college, coursework, Effy, parties. Life goes back to normal, more or less. Her mum has a new business—wedding planning, and the sort—and sometimes Katie helps. Meeting clients, calling clubs and caterers—small stuff, but it's nice, doing actual work she's good at, and for once Katie starts to believe she might not be totally useless. 

The evening before it happens, before it really goes to shit, she goes over to Effy's unannounced and finds Effy in her room, sitting on the floor, bits of broken ceramic laid out in front of her. Whatever the pieces made up, Effy's carefully putting them back together—there's paste on her fingers, and smeared across the front of the faded, old vest she's wearing. When Katie asks her what she's doing, Effy says that Anthea accidentally tripped over an end table, knocking a vase to the ground. The event had been one in a series, and Anthea had finally convinced herself it was best she go to a rehabilitation clinic.

"No drink in the house," Effy says wryly. "And she flushed her pills down the toilet. Says she's going away tomorrow."

"That's a good thing, yeah?"

Effy shrugs, and Katie considers the subject closed. After a moment, she sits beside Effy and, without thinking, starts rearranging the pieces on the floor, trying to sort them, to fit them together, like a puzzle. She feels Effy's gaze as she does so, but there's no objection and soon they begin working side-by-side—Katie finding the bits that go together, while Effy glues them back into their original, unified shape.

After a while, Katie asks, "Why didn't you just toss it in the bin?"

Effy doesn't look up from her work. "Because I liked it." She pauses. "Tony made it for me, a long time ago. It was hideous, so I made sure Mum put it out where everyone could see."

Katie smiles at that—Effy, being absurdly sentimental—and they continue with their project in silence for what feels like a long, long time. When they're done, they sit back and Effy rolls a spliff. They smoke whilst waiting for the pieces to set.

In the semi darkness of Effy's room, they stare at the result. Effy holds it up carefully, and examines it, frowning. 

"Still fucking hideous," Katie says, because it is _well_ ugly. Probably it's even uglier for their collective effort, but Katie guesses that wasn't the point, anyway.

Effy laughs. "Yeah." There's a spot of dried paste on her cheek, and Katie just licks her thumb and wipes what she can away. Effy's gaze softens in a way Katie isn't entirely used to. "Thanks."

Katie drops her hand away but lingers close, because it's quiet and Effy looks soft in this light. "Your mum, she'll get better," she says. "Things will be better."

She waits for Effy to turn flinty, to retreat or, worse, to laugh at Katie's solemn, stupid promise. Instead, she squares her shoulders and releases a pained little sigh. A frown line appears between her brows, but Katie kisses it away the next moment, whispering an apology for being so presumptuous. 

"No," Effy answers. "I... It's kind of you. It just almost never works out that way, you know?"

"Yeah." Katie nods, wishing she didn't. "I do."

___

It finally happens on a Friday night. Or, rather, a Saturday morning. The sound of the door closing wakes Katie, but it isn't until she hears rough, breathless crying that she scrambles out of bed to see what's wrong.

It's Emily, sat against their bedroom door, as if she collapsed there as soon as she came inside, arms wrapped around her legs, forehead to her knees, shaking.

Katie kneels in front of her and touches the side of her face, through strands of wet hair that cling to her cheek and mouth. "Ems," she says, feeling absolutely powerless. "Ems, tell me."

For the longest time, Emily isn't able to say anything at all. Her disquieting sobs are hushed, violently contained. She probably doesn't want anyone to hear, but Katie wonders if she's consciously holding back, too, afraid that if she cries as hard as she needs to, she'll never be able to stop. It doesn't help that she's drunk as well. Katie can smell the cider on her breath.

Katie waits. She shifts and sits beside her sister, feeling with each sob an answering pull in her own chest; soon there are sympathetic tears welling up in her eyes. She puts an arm around Emily's shoulders, and waits.

They stay there—Emily crying into her hands, Katie expecting words, confirmation that it's Naomi who's done this. Who else could ruin her this way? Emily, however, refuses to say anything, and after a while all Katie can think to do is lead her to bed, helping her undress as she wobbles unsteadily. There's enough light in the room that Katie can see Emily's makeup-streaked cheeks are still wet, and every so often her chest contracts sharply as she takes in a hard, rattling breath.

"I'll fucking scratch her eyes out," Katie says. Emily stops wobbling and looks up. Something flashes between them, some unspoken, nameless thing that's bound them together forever.

As Emily ducks forward, Katie opens her arms. When they sleep, they both lie in Katie's bed, facing the window. Katie holds Emily until her chest rises and falls evenly, thinking not about the end of Naomi and Emily, but about the horror of overweening love.

 

Both Mum and Dad are gone in the early afternoon, but James is watching telly as Katie wanders into the kitchen, her head pounding and her mouth dry. She drinks two glasses of water before she even notices that he's talking to her.

" _What?_ " she asks, swiping water from her lips, still tired and not in the mood for his shit. 

"I _said_ Naomi was here, and she wanted to speak to Emily. But you were both sleeping so I told her to bugger off. Gordon McPherson says girls that fit are almost always cunt-rags, though I don't think I'd care if I had a chance at _her_ fanny."

Katie turns round and boxes his ears. He lets out a loud, whiny cry. "Ow! What was that for, then? That was a _compliment_."

"Shut up, worm." 

He rolls his eyes, tossing her the V sign, but as he turns to leave, she grabs him by his scrawny arm.

"Wait. Did she say what she wanted? Is she coming back or what?"

"Dunno. _Ow_. Katie, your nails are like fucking talons, you minging harpy!"

She releases him with an exasperated sigh and he exits the room with another string of insults she'll be sure he pays for.

But first, she calls Effy.

 

Katie's outside, working on her second fag, when Effy comes into view, carrying a paper bag; Katie can only guess what's in it, and she's so grateful she almost kisses her right then.

"Aren't we going inside?" Effy asks, glancing at the front door. 

"No," Katie says. She thinks about lighting another cigarette, but decides against it. "She's just...fucking staring at the wall."

"That bad?"

"You'd think Naomi was dead or something."

"What did you expect, Katie? She's hurt."

"Christ, I _know_ she's hurt. But she won't talk to me. I fucking _tried_."

"So let me."

"Let you what?"

Effy presses the bag into Katie's hands; there's a bottle in it, thank fucking God, and from the shape of it, Katie expects hard liquor. "Let me talk to her."

"And say what, exactly?"

Effy shrugs. "Maybe she just needs someone to listen. I suspect you've been trying to bully her into being okay." When Katie opens her mouth to protest, Effy kisses her. "Later. Give me a few minutes, and then bring the bottle, yeah?"

Katie follows her inside, and sits at the bottom of the steps whilst Effy goes up to their room. 

James peeks round the corner and says, "Was that Effy Stonem? The girl who bashed your head in? I thought we weren't supposed to like her."

"Go away, worm."

"Honestly, what's she doing here?" When Katie just glares at him, he goes on. "That's another one I wouldn't mind boning..."

Katie almost throws the bottle at him. Instead, she slips off a trainer and chucks it at his head. It misses by inches, and he runs off saying they're all mental, and he'll be at Gordon McPherson's if Mum or Dad ask. 

 

A few minutes later, Katie's still sat at the bottom of the stairs, holding the bottle Effy brought in her lap, when there's a timid knocking at the door. 

Katie thinks about ignoring it, but when it starts up again, louder this time, she goes to see if she can make out who it is behind the frosted glass. A tuft of white-blonde hair. Right.

She opens the door just as Naomi's raised her fist again. She lets her arm fall limply to her side, shifting uncomfortably beneath Katie's stare. Her eyes are impossibly large and watery and she looks a bigger mess than usual, if that's possible.

"What are you doing here?"

"Christ, just let me in, Katie," Naomi responds wearily. "I need to speak with her."

"Yeah, well, she doesn't want to see you." The devastation Naomi exudes is palpable, and Katie finds herself with the unholy desire to give her a hug. "Look, I'll tell her you were here, all right?"

Naomi's expression turns defiant. "I won't leave until I see her."

"Yeah, right," Katie says, closing the door in Naomi's face. True to her word, Naomi's just sunk down onto the porch, prepared to wait.

"You should let her in," Effy says. Katie starts a bit, because she hadn't even heard her come down the stairs.

"Jesus, you fucking scared me."

"Let her in," Effy repeats.

"Emily doesn't want to see her right now," Katie replies, growing irritated. "She needs some fucking space, okay?"

"No," Effy says, the fucking know-it-all. "She wants Naomi to fix it."

"Fix _what?_ And how is this any of your business, anyway?"

"You called _me_ ," Effy remarks. "They're my friends, too, Katie."

Katie's shoulders sag. She pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment, and then turns back to the door.

Naomi looks up at her from her place on the ground. There's a hole in her leggings; she's wearing Vans with no socks on, and one of the laces is undone. Katie can picture her, pedaling madly for miles, hair windswept, eyes burning from all the crying she's been doing over the last few hours. All for this moment. All for Katie standing squarely in the way.

Katie doesn't care.

"Tell me exactly what you want to say to her."

"It's none of your concern."

"That's where you're fucking wrong. She's my sister."

"Yeah? Well, she's my..." Naomi stops cold. For a moment, she closes her eyes; shakes her head. "My best friend. And I need to know she's all right."

"Best _friend?_ Shouldn't you have thought of that _before_ you fucked her over? Fucking hell, Naomi."

"It's all right, Katie." The voice comes from the top of the stairs, and there's Emily, looking just as if she'd been run over by a car or something. Same clothes, same streaks of dark makeup. Hair matted on one side. Katie wants to shake Naomi and say, _Look at her. Look what you've done_. But she can't. Whatever they've done, they've done to each other, and Naomi's right, for once. It isn't any of Katie's business.

Naomi brushes past her, toward the stairs which she climbs slowly, like each one leads closer to her execution. A ball of anxiety lodges in Katie's throat, and she's staring up at them when Effy takes her by the hand and shakes her out of it.

"Come on," she says. "Let's go."

 

As soon as the door to Effy's room closes, Katie presses against her. Kisses her roughly.

"I know we're not them," she says, sighing when Effy's hands slide under her shirt, fingers curling as they stroke up and down her back. "I know it's not the same. But I just—"

Effy shushes her softly, the gesture at once maddening and reassuring. "Katie," she says, her smile completely unguarded. "Don't think about it."

Katie scowls. "How can I not? My fucking sister's heart is _crushed_ and, I mean, Naomi's _in love_ with her, so what hope do I have that..." She pauses, suddenly angry at herself for saying way too much. "Forget it."

Leaning back against the door, dropping her hands to her sides, Effy gives her a long look. She shakes her head, asks, "Is there an urgent need to give this a name? We can, if it'll make you feel better."

"Fuck off."

Effy smiles. "So be my... What would you like to call yourself?"

Katie grits her teeth, moving toward the bed as she begins discarding her clothes, starting with her top. She struggles with the first few buttons, managing to pull it over her head despite her trembling hands. "Fuck _off_ ," she repeats, kicking off her shoes. 

"I'm just trying to figure out how to make you happy." For a moment, Effy almost sounds grave, but then she smirks and says, "Lover? Are you my not-gay-lesbian lover, then?"

"You cow," Katie murmurs affectionately, relieved that the conversation has turned less serious. She takes off the rest of her clothes, lies on the bed in her underwear. "Fuck's sake, I don't _care_ what you call me, just don't..." She isn't sure what to say. _Don't do what Naomi did? Don't fucking break my heart?_ That implies too many things about whatever their relationship is, too many things about what she's feeling that she can't come out and say.

"I won't." Effy's voice is quiet, and it's astonishing, how two words out of her mouth can make Katie's anxieties so much better, and so much worse. Because this is Effy _trying_ , Effy _caring_ , and Katie isn't sure whether to be relieved, or terrified that caring is only a prelude to the end.

___

"I don't really know how to do this."

They're at Chew Valley Lake—lounging by the shore though the February chill is abrasive—and Effy says the words off-handedly, shrugging as she gives Katie a sideways glance. The air around her mouth condenses as she speaks. "Thought I should tell you."

Despite the cryptic nature of her words, Katie knows exactly what Effy means. It's been two weeks since the breakup, and there's still an awful, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever she thinks about it, which is every time she catches a glimpse of Naomi's pinched face. Katie's thought about approaching her, but maybe the wound is still too fresh.

A breeze picks up, and Katie tugs at her scarf, tightening the knot at the base of her throat. She looks at the lake which, from this distance, appears to be green. Algae or something, she thinks. The tufted ducks that float along on it don't seem to mind.

"Yeah?" She takes a fag from Effy's cigarette case; lights it. When she exhales, smoke gets in her eyes.

Effy's slender arms wrap around her knees. Her black trousers are half-tucked into her heavy boots, and her jumper's sleeves are pulled over her fists; she looks so frightfully cold, Katie wonders why she chose to drive them out here at all.

When Effy just keeps staring out at the water, silent, Katie says, "You don't have to. I mean, I don't either."

Effy's lips curve into a sardonic smile. "'I've never not had a boyfriend,'" she teases. "That was you, wasn't it?"

Katie bristles. "That's not what I'm fucking talking about, yeah? It's different. It's..." She stops, unsure of how much more she wants to share about how she feels—how nothing's ever felt like being with Effy. How she's sure nothing else could ever be... _more_.

How much that terrifies her.

"Different," Effy murmurs, looking away without pursuing the issue.

Katie leaves it at that, because she's sure the last thing Effy wants to do is start coming up with definitions—she's rather sick of it herself. Knowing who and what they were didn't help Naomi and Emily, did it? So, instead, she asks something that she's been wondering about for the better part of six months. She approaches the subject tentatively. "I've been wondering...?"

Effy takes an anemic puff of her cigarette. "Yeah?"

"About last summer. When you went off with Cook. Why did you come back? Alone, I mean."

Effy spares her a glance. "Seriously?"

Katie nods.

The sky above them is very clear, a blue so pale it's almost white. There are no storm clouds in the distance, no ominous clouds. It's just them, and the lake, and the ducks. Effy reaches for the flask that Katie earlier filled with some of her dad's good whiskey, the sort that warms your entire body up with one sip. 

She takes a long drink, turns and wipes her mouth on her shoulder.

"When we left," she says, "I was running away from what I'd done. To you." She stubs her cigarette out and lights another. "Cook's the best for that sort of thing. When you want to get away, there's Cook with some MDMA or..." She trails off; Katie ignores the jolt of angry jealousy that tears through her. "And it was good at first. Fun, you know? For a while, anyway. But then Cook wanted to see his dad, and something changed. Things got serious, and suddenly he had this look about him—this look people get when they're hungry and they want you to help fill up their emptiness. He should've known I'd have nothing to give him. That's when I called Freddie, and he showed up with JJ and... It was a bit of a clusterfuck, to be honest. By the end of it, I was back in Bristol."

"And you'd cut them all loose."

"Yeah."

"And then?"

"And then there was you." Effy gives her a long, even look, and there's nothing behind her eyes except a vague warmth. Katie wonders how it got there, and how to make it stay. 

"Why me?" Katie asks. "Why'd you come after me?"

"Is that how it went? I seem to remember you following _me_ , Katie."

"You fucking pushed me."

"Yeah? And you pushed back." 

Katie shivers. She steals Effy's fag, flicks the ash off the end and takes her own half-hearted drag. Then, she takes the flask, unscrews the cap, and brings it to her lips. When she tips it back, she closes her eyes. "God," she says, her voice rough with drink. "We were so massively fucked up." She looks at Effy. "I mean, maybe we still are."

Effy gives her an odd little smile. "Nothing's ever perfect."


End file.
